


My Christmas Gift

by 0Rocky41_7



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas, Holidays, Human AU, M/M, holiday celebration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:03:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sadik visits Francis for Christmas and contemplates the future of their curious relationship (and is introduced to escargot).</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Christmas Gift

Sadik tugged as his coat collar as another chilly breeze swept over him. A dusting of snow covered the ground and he had to remind himself to watch his step; he’d almost slipped and broken his neck at least three times since getting off the bus. He illuminated his phone screen to check the map’s directions and compare them with the ones Francis had sent him to ensure he was going the right way.

                It had been five years since he’d seen Francis face-to-face; Sadik was picturing the gleam of excitement in his eyes over this visit and wondered if it looked the same as it had the last time they’d seen each other.

                Last time, when Sadik’s parents had spontaneously decided they wanted to host a French exchange student, and so this girlish-looking, blue-eyed, golden-haired Francophone had appeared on their doorstep, apparently exceedingly excited to see all the things Sadik saw on a daily basis. His Turkish was actually good, but Sadik was already in university by the time he came, and so did not spent an enormous amount of time entertaining his parents’ foreign child.

                Somehow though, he’d made an impression on Francis anyway.

                Francis was reasonably polite and never pried or got into things that weren’t his business, but as the end of his visit approached, and Sadik mentioned off-handedly to his parents that he was going out to a party of a friends’ (that was a lie; a friend had invited him, but he didn’t even know the host), Francis begged to go with. Eventually Sadik caved and his parents gave him a (in his opinion, excessive) lecture on making sure nothing horrendous befell their visiting youth. There were times though, when Sadik caught a particular look in Francis’ eye that made him think this boy could get into quite enough trouble on his own (and perhaps had already).

                Was this the street? Yeah, those letters matched up, even if there were too damn many of them. Sadik had started picking up French, but long after Francis had begun Turkish, so his conversation was limited to nothing much more than polite niceties. He gave a jerk on his luggage and swerved out of the way of an old lady and her Pomeranian as he turned the corner.

                No one was _supposed_ to be smoking, let alone drinking, but it was a college party, so could anyone really be surprised they were breaking rules? Sadik kept it to a minimum, but Francis, being European and not Muslim, had no qualms about drinking. Sadik didn’t think he’d ever smoked, but he didn’t say no to that either.

                It must have been that which led the teenager to corner Sadik in the spice closet sometime later that night and kiss him in a way that suggested far too much experience for his age. Oh yeah, this kid was trouble.

                It was over very quickly, and never mentioned again, and aside from excessive giggling, Francis was still quiet and polite when they slipped back into Sadik’s parents’ house a few hours later. But sometime when the Adnans were bidding their guest goodbye, Francis found a way to slip a paper with his number and email address into Sadik’s pocket. The “I” in Francis was dotted with a heart.

                The stupid thing, Sadik told himself, had been that he actually _called_ (did anyone _know_ how expensive international calls were?).

                Which was why he was here, freezing his ass off in the French Alps trying to find the apartment building Francis had directed him to, and taking due notice of the tinsel and wreaths decorating the streets.

                Eventually he reached an old building with an air of heavily worn, old French elegance; the sort of building that had probably changed purposes ten or twelve times since it was constructed. Despite the cold, people still had laundry hanging out their windows or on their balconies (some had set up space heaters nearby and one had a dark-haired child cross-legged on a chair next to it, coloring). All sorts of things were visible, just hanging out there for anyone passing by to see; things from toddlers’ onesies to women’s lacy underthings. Briefly, Sadik wondered if any of that belonged to Francis and then shook his head to clear that thought out before going inside, pausing to stomp any stray snow off his feet at the threshold.

                The elevator was a rickety old thing and at least once Sadik was sure it was going to make a sudden, gravity-induced change of direction. But he made it to the fifth floor without severe bodily harm, squeezing past a family of three going in (he thought he caught the words “sapin” and “Noel” from the excited children).

                He checked his paper for Francis’ apartment number no less than four times as he stood outside the door before telling himself to stop being such a baby, and knocking on the door.

                “Une second!” He heard some muffled noise from the other side of the door and then it was jerked open to reveal a slightly-flushed blond. He blinked a moment and then his face split into a dazzling smile. “Sadik!” Before the Turk could draw breath to reply, Francis leaned in and kissed him on both cheeks, then stepped aside to let him in. “Come in, you look freezing,” he sympathized. It wasn’t awfully warm in Francis’ apartment, which probably explained the owner’s thick red sweater and Christmas-themed socks.

                He’d changed so much Sadik wanted to claim he wouldn’t have recognized Francis, but that wasn’t true. His hair had been shorter when he’d been in Istanbul, but Sadik would still know those luxurious blond waves no matter what. And the eyes, those were the same too. The excited look Sadik had been imagining was just as it had been in his head. But he was _taller_ now! He was just a couple inches shorter than Sadik now. Broader too; the androgynous beauty of his youth had given way into something more distinctly masculine (though certainly not without a touch of femininity that Francis seemed to enjoy and take advantage of). And—was that facial hair?

                “I’m glad you found it, I was starting to think I should’ve gone to pick you up,” Francis said when Sadik didn’t immediately reply, being occupied taking him in. He nibbled his lower lip anxiously.

                “No, it’s fine,” Sadik said, jerking himself out of his daze. “I found it. You just can’t go fast out there, it’s so icy!” Francis smiled again and Sadik noted his sweater sleeve covered part of his hand when not pulled back.

                “Come and sit down,” he said, leading Sadik to the dining room, which was approximately three feet from the front door.

                “You know, the shoebox look never fully transferred over webcam,” Sadik remarked, earning himself a withering look from Francis.

                “Coming from the one who just moved out of his parents’ place two years ago,” he fired back lightly. “Do you want something to drink? I have coffee.”

                “That’d be great,” came the relieved reply. Tiredness from the trip was setting in now that he wasn’t on the hunt for the destination and Sadik rarely said no to a hot cup of tea or coffee. Francis went into the kitchen and must’ve already had coffee going, because he brought out a mug only a moment later.

                “Cream, sugar, cinnamon,” he said, waving a hand towards the small condiment tray in the middle of the table, which actually took up a significant portion of the likewise miniscule table. Sadik nodded in approval.

                “You do coffee well, for a European,” he said, helping himself to a bit of each.

                “Of course I do, I’m French,” Francis sniffed, before ducking back into the kitchen to check something in the oven.

                “What’s that?” Sadik asked, leaning over to see if he could catch a glimpse.

                “Tonight’s appetizer,” Francis replied, getting himself a cup of coffee and joining Sadik at the table. His pulled his sweater sleeves over his hands before wrapping them around the steaming mug, and for a moment Sadik was transfixed with this sight, of Francis’ fingers just poking out of the floppy sleeves of his sweater. No grown man had any right to do something that cute. “How was your trip?”

                Again snapping himself back to attention, Sadik said, “Long. And I don’t think the lady next to me on the plane has showered any time in the last three years.” Francis laughed. “I should’ve made you come see me,” he threatened powerlessly.

                “I already did, Sadik,” Francis said with a smile at once sweet and coy, as he lifted his mug to sip his coffee. “Now I get to show you _my_ town.” He looked so fantastically pleased with this turn of events, it made something like guilt twist in Sadik’s gut. He doubted Francis’ expectations for this trip matched up with his own, but he didn’t want to raise that issue now.

                “Yeah, if I don’t slip and kill myself on the front steps,” he grumbled without force.

                He had intended to leave it for a couple days at least, or maybe not even until the end of the trip, but everything got all muddled up and it ended up coming to light that very night at dinner. He should’ve expected as much, he thought wearily, with how skilled Francis was at working things out of people.

                “Maybe next year I can come visit you for your holidays!” Francis was saying brightly as they dug into the carefully prepared welcome meal he’d made that night (thus the reason for him leaving Sadik to find his own way to the apartment; he’d already had things in motion for dinner).

                “Yeah…it’s a real long way though,” Sadik said evasively, which was the beginning of his downfall. The look of curious confusion he got was sure did not accurately portray everything that was going on in Francis’ head.

                “It was a long way for you to come here,” he pointed out reasonably.

                “Yeah…it’s just a long way,” he said, shrugging, poking at his mushrooms in hopes of letting this conversation die out. “These are great, by the way. What did you use to season them?” Sadik and Francis often swapped recipes or cooking techniques; it was something they enjoyed enormously, but Francis was not having a deflection now.

                “It’s always been a long way,” Francis said.

                “It will always be a long way,” Sadik added. They’d both stopped eating now, and were watching each other half-warily. Sadik watched a number of things flash through Francis’ gaze, including dismay, despair, determination and resolution.

                “You came to break up with me,” he said simply, setting his fork down.

                “Francis, I can hardly ‘break up’ with you, we aren’t _together_ ,” Sadik said, putting his own utensils down.

                “We’re something,” Francis muttered, glancing away.

                “We can’t be,” Sadik told him as gently as he could, though tenderness was not often in Sadik’s array of emotions. “It just…” He sighed gustily and lowered his head. “I didn’t mean to do this now. I was going to wait. But Francis, it just…it can’t _work_. We’re so far apart and we’re so different and we–”

                “Don’t say we hardly know each other,” Francis interrupted him sharply, his eyes zeroing in on Sadik’s olive-green ones. “That’s not true and you know it. Just because we’ve grown our relationship over the internet and not face-to-face doesn’t make it any less what it is.”

                “I would ask you what it is, exactly, but I don’t think you have an answer either,” Sadik responded. “There are just too many other factors, Francis!”

                “We’re not so different,” Francis disagreed, in a half-pleading way. “Is this about religion? Sadik, it doesn’t bother me that you’re Muslim, it’s never bothered me. You know that!” The way he said it sounded like _I hope you know that_.

                Sadik, for his part, was watching all his carefully thought-out, seemingly infallible arguments fall apart right in front of him. What in the world had convinced him he’d be able to do this face-to-face? Francis could make anyone believe anything about relationships if he tried hard enough. Sadik recalled once referring to him as the “spawn of Aphrodite” in a playful argument and right now it seemed appropriate again, but this wasn’t funny.

                “Does it bother you that I’m Catholic?” he asked anxiously, when Sadik didn’t make a reply. Those stupid sweater sleeves were falling over his hand again and his fingers tugged at the cuffs, those emotive eyes pinning Sadik to his chair.

                “No, but—It’s just—” _Shit_. Winning _other_ arguments with Francis wasn’t this hard! “What would your parents say?” he asked at last, throwing his hands out to the side. “If they knew you wanted to be with a Muslim?”

                “They’d be very accepting and invite us both over for Christmas dinner,” Francis said. “Or they could just handle it.” Even his family didn’t get to judge him about things like this; he had no tolerance for it. He wasn’t honestly entirely sure how they’d react, but if they weren’t supportive, he’d be out of there in a hot minute. They knew he was pansexual though, and that had gone over smoothly, so that gave him hope for this. “Sadik…” He reached out for Sadik’s hand and he tried to dodge for a moment, but Francis caught it anyway and clutched it between his two. “It shouldn’t _matter_ what other people think about it. If _we’re_ happy that’s what matters!”

                “But Francis, there are a lot of things going on here and—” Before Sadik could nail his argument back onto solid ground, Francis interrupted him with more pixie dust-inspired pep-talk material. Where did he _get_ all this stuff?

                “But if people _love_ each other—”

                “Who said anything about love?” Sadik demanded, trying not to sound panicky, even as Francis looked stricken by misspeaking (and if Sadik wasn’t wrong, rather pink in the face), and withdrew his hands to his lap.

                “Just—I…I care about you, Sadik.” Francis lifted his gaze without raising his head and the effect was devastating. “I don’t want to lose you because other people have to be judgmental.”

                “Francis…” This had not gone at all as planned. “There are plenty of other—”

                “Don’t say there are other people,” Francis broke in. “I don’t want other people.” Unspoken was the logical conclusion to that statement: I want you.

                “But you’re so far away…” Sadik repeated feebly, feeling somewhat like he’d just kicked a puppy down the front steps.

                “I know,” Francis said, nodding in acknowledgement. “And that’s hard…but we can deal with that. Please, Sadik, at least give it until the end of your trip. We can talk more and then you can decide, okay?”

                Sadik had come here with every intention of ending this extended quasi-relationship they’d carried on for nearly half a decade, and he honestly wouldn’t be awfully shocked in Francis had talked him into marriage before he left.

                “Alright, alright, I’ll wait,” he relented, knowing the more he talked to Francis, the more he’d be convinced that his fairy godmother was going to step out of a willow tree and turn them both into princes of some winter wonderland. That was just the effect Francis had.

                Francis apologized profusely for the lack of a guest bedroom, and offered Sadik either the couch or a place in his bed to sleep for the trip. Sadik took the couch, ostensibly for the sake of giving Francis privacy, but more because he didn’t trust either of them as far as he could throw a sack of flour to share a bed and not let anything regrettable happen.

                Christmas just a week away, but Francis had waited for Sadik to come to put up his little Christmas tree (sitting plainly in the corner of the living room), so that was what they did the next day, after they’d both slept in until nearly eleven. Francis made them crepes and put on some radio station that played a lot of American Christmas music, and then revealed his Christmas tree-decorating plan. It turned out to actually be fun, and they sipped hot mugs of tea and looked at the people bustling around on the sidewalk outside the window between hanging baubles on the little evergreen. Most of all, Francis’ gushing joy was contagious and Sadik felt his apprehensions and anxieties from their discussion the night before melt away as the hours went on.

                He really should have had the foresight to anticipate getting caught beneath the mistletoe though. When Francis finally caught him there, he grabbed the front of Sadik’s shirt to keep him from getting away and pointed up, to the little sprig hanging between the hall and the living room.

                “Mistletoe,” he said. “You know about the tradition of mistletoe, right?” He was practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet with excitement.

                “Yes, I know about mistletoe,” Sadik said, rolling his eyes a little. “You put that there on purpose, didn’t you?” Francis just grinned at him, but the way he looked off out of the corners of his eyes answered the question Sadik hadn’t really needed to ask.

                “It’s tradition, you have to do it,” he warned playfully. Being a sporting fellow, Sadik leaned in to give Francis his kiss, but was apparently not fast enough, because Francis leaned up to meet him, winding his arms around Sadik’s neck to kiss him longer than probably strictly necessary for a mistletoe kiss. His hands somehow found their way to Francis’ hips and dimly he noted Francis tasted of peppermint, likely from the bowl of candies by the couch. Sadik was given strong flashbacks to the last time they had kissed, all panting and heat and grasping hands in the darkness of the spice closet. Francis was better-behaved this time, but still very enthusiastic, and Sadik couldn’t resist tugging him a little closer, to feel Francis’ slim frame against his own. When they broke apart, Francis’ lips were dark from the rush of blood and with no logical explanation for it, Sadik leaned in and gave him a little peck on the lips, which Francis received contentedly.

                “I hope you don’t do that with everyone you meet under the mistletoe,” Sadik told him with mock sternness.

                “Of course not,” Francis said with a shameless shrug and an easy smile. “Only people who are hot.” He winked and flounced off to go fetch something else from his storage closet, leaving Sadik to wonder if he’d been joking or not, and did he really just get called _hot_ by this saucy young Frenchman? Okay, there was only a four year age difference between them, but _still_. Francis was utterly insouciant in the way he flirted here and there and invited nearly anyone and everyone to come have a go at him. Sadik knew there had been partners between this time and the last, but the way Francis was acting made him wonder if he’d hung onto that kiss in Istanbul as long as Sadik had.

                The next day, Francis insisted they go out to the Christmas market. Outside, Francis grabbed his hand and led him down the sidewalk, and Sadik stumbled after him, distracted trying to wrap his mind around Francis holding his hand, in the middle of a public place. And yet, nothing happened. Hardly anyone even gave them a second glance, except for one old lady at the tram stop who sent a nasty look at them, but that might’ve just been Sadik’s imagination, or it might’ve just been her face, but Francis urged him too quickly to be sure.

    Sadik had gotten a brief glimpse of the temporary market on his way in, but when they bundled up and went out, he realized he’d missed most of it. The whole inner square of the city was full of wooden kiosks offering everything from Christmas tree decorations to delectable holiday treats to cheap toys for the kids and handmade scarves and mittens. The whole place smelled like fresh-cooked food and all around them people were chatting and shopping and snapping pictures of their kids in the playground.

                After they’d gone through a few stands, Francis decided they needed food, and bought them each a treat from one of the food kiosks: Belgian waffles liberally drizzled with Nutella. It wasn’t something Sadik would have guessed Francis would get, but the Frenchman reached eagerly for them after handing over the cash. They turned out to be good, though difficult not to make a mess of. Halfway through, the pair settled down on a bench to finish. When Sadik had swallowed the last corner of his waffle, Francis reached over and wiped a smear of Nutella off his face with his thumb, and when Sadik turned to look at him, he sucked the Nutella off his thumb and smiled sweetly.

                “You missed some,” he said. Sadik was hit with an annoyingly urgent desire to lean over and kiss that look off his face, but they were right in the middle of the market, so he refrained.

                “Good thing I have you to catch it,” he said instead, and when they headed back to Francis’ apartment, it was Sadik who took Francis’ hand.

                Francis ended up buying nothing more than a package of escargot, which Sadik eyed warily. He made them later that night, but Sadik was still avoidant when Francis set the plate on the table for them to share as an appetizer.

                He helped himself to a few, reaching into the shell with the two-pronged fork to pull the snail out, before holding one out to Sadik.

                “Come on, just try it,” he coaxed.

                “I’ll pass, thanks,” Sadik said, leaning back a little.

                “Come on, I tried lots of weird things at your place!” Francis argued lightly.

                “None of those things were _snails_ ,” Sadik replied, his lip curling slightly.

                “Come on…you know me. Do you really thing I’d eat them if they weren’t good?” That was actually the best argument Francis could’ve made; Sadik knew him to be an incurable gourmet. Francis would forgo food altogether before he’d eat something below his standards. With a silent prayer for the sanctity of his soul, Sadik leaned forward and ate a snail.

                Shockingly, he lived.

                “These are…”

                “Good?” Francis watched him expectantly.

                “It doesn’t really taste like a snail,” he said, swallowing. Francis shook his head.

                “Escargot is all in the seasoning,” he said. “I made these ones with a bit more spice, I thought you might like that better.”

                “I’ll never forgive you if you make me a snail-eater,” Sadik warned. There was a pause and then, “Do you have another one of those forks?”

                Christmas Eve found them snuggled on the couch beneath a heavy blue blanket, watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ on Francis’ small TV (with French subtitles). Neither of them was paying strict attention; it was late, nearly midnight, and they’d spent the day first at an art museum and then ice skating at the local winter rink. Sadik had roared with laughter to see the usually-graceful Francis stumbling and slipping and at several points, nearly doing the splits trying to skate. Not that he was any better, and crashed head-on into the low wall around the rink because he couldn’t stop, but he expected Francis to be delicate and elegant as usual, so it was a hilarious treat to see him otherwise. Francis had sulked and pouted about being laughed at and was only mollified by macarons from a bakery on the way back, which was also in large part because it was Sadik’s first time having them and he decided in two bites that they were now one of his favorite things in the world.

                There had been a nice big stack of brightly colored macarons on the table beside the couch, but that had been hours ago when they’d just gotten home, and now there was nothing but pastel crumbs left behind. Dinner had been mostly scavenged, but Francis assured Sadik tomorrow’s dinner would be the best since he’d come.

                Francis was tucked into Sadik’s side, his head on the Turk’s shoulder, forehead brushing his neck, and Sadik’s arm was half around him.

                “Sadik,” Francis murmured, laying a hand on Sadik’s stomach and curling his fingers into Sadik’s loose sweater.

                “Yeah?” He tried to look down at Francis, but the angle was not very conducive to eye contact.

                “I wish you’d stay.”

                “I’m not going anywhere,” Sadik said, his dark brow furrowing in confusion. “It’s almost midnight.”

                “No, I mean…” Francis pushed himself up so he could look at Sadik and as usual, it looked like there was much too much thinking going on in those ocean-blue eyes. “Stay here. With me.”

                “In France?” Sadik asked, surprised (in retrospect, he shouldn’t have been). Francis nodded.

                “You were right, we’re so far apart and…if we were able to spend a few months living together it might…tell us whether or not this is going to work,” Francis explained.

                “You expect me to just pick everything up and move halfway across the world to your freezing city?” Sadik asked. Francis’ eyes widened and Sadik watched him momentarily scramble to change Sadik’s view of the suggestion before he let his facial expression relax. “You should know there’s no one else in the world I’d do that for.” Now Francis paused, sensing a chance. Sadik took a little breath and leaned in to kiss Francis softly. “That makes you pretty lucky, huh?”

                Francis was beaming when he pulled back. “Yes, it does,” he agreed freely, before yawning. Sadik followed suit and Francis said, “Let’s go to bed, it’s late. Father Christmas won’t come it we’re up too late.” Sadik snorted.

                “Yeah, you might wake up with an empty stocking,” he said sarcastically.

                “Hey, don’t laugh, I’ve almost got what I want for Christmas and I’m not jeopardizing it,” Francis told him seriously, waving the remote at Sadik as he rose to shut off the TV.

                “You know, Saint Nicholas was from my country,” Sadik offered up. “I can pass on a good word for you if you earn it.”

                “You don’t even know what I want,” Francis said. Sadik threw off the blanket and slapped his knee.

                “Come tell me then and I’ll pass a word on to ol’ Father Christmas,” he joked. Someday he was really going to learn to stop saying things like that as a joke, because Francis actually did come over and sit on his lap, but straddled it, so he could lean forward to whisper in Sadik’s ear.

                “I want to live with my boyfriend,” he whispered to the alarmed Turk, who’d gone rigid when Francis came over. “I don’t care where, or how, but that’s all I want.”

                “Ah…I’ll see what I can do,” Sadik said quietly, putting a hand on Francis’ lower back.

                “Good.” Francis’ long lashes framed his sleepy eyes in a charming way and he reached up to ruffle Sadik’s dark hair before getting up. “Let’s go to bed then, and see what we get.” He tugged on Sadik’s hand. “Come on, I can’t leave you on the couch on Christmas Eve. Come sleep with me.”

                “You better behave or Saint Nicholas won’t come,” Sadik warned him as he got up, because it was the only thing that came to mind, but it made him wonder what other stupid things he might say in the near future. He decided he didn’t want to know. Francis gave a tired laugh and took Sadik’s hand to pull him down the hall to his bedroom, which was mostly taken up with the bed.

                “I’ll be good,” he promised.

                In the morning, it was snowing again, and Francis was curled up as his side, with his head resting on Sadik’s chest, gently rising and falling with his breathing. When he felt Sadik’s breathing change as he woke, Francis made a quiet noise of contentment and lifted his head to look down at Sadik. His hair was a mess, but for once he didn’t seem concerned with it.

                “Merry Christmas,” he said, a smile starting to tug at his lips. Sadik reached up and caught Francis’ chin to pull him in for a chaste kiss.

                “Merry Christmas, Francis,” he said. And it was—the best Christmas Sadik had ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> When I visited the French Alps, during Christmas the majority of what was played was American Christmas music. The only explanation we got was that American music is cheerier than traditional French Christmas music.
> 
>  
> 
> [ On tumblr](http://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/134712463980/my-christmas-gift)


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